


Counting to Fifteen

by gerrd_way



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerrd_way/pseuds/gerrd_way
Summary: Eric Bittle has always had trouble with his identity, and throughout the years his understanding of his sexuality has changed, and so has his anxiety surrounding it. As he grew up, he learned more and more about himself, and more and more about the world around him. How is he going to handle this secret? Fic takes place before and leading up to 3.23 "Cup II - Summer With Jack".





	1. Ryan

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was originally based on the song HEAVEN by Troye Sivan, and the connections will become more apparent as the story continues, but for now, have some small Bitty and a First Crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is inspired by the song "HEAVEN" by Troye Sivan, but I made a whole playlist too! https://spoti.fi/2JyyVQr

_March 27, 2005 – small town, GA – Easter morning_

Eric was glad that he was still young enough to hunt for eggs at his church’s annual Easter egg hunt instead of hiding the eggs like the middle school and high school youth group did. He was one of the big kids – he was in fourth grade – and he liked that, but he was still a kid.

Eric stood at the edge of the playground in giddy anticipation. He looked over at his best friend, Ryan, who also looked at Eric and smiled. His smile made Eric smile even larger, and he felt a slight rumble in his stomach, which was weird, but not a bad weird. Ryan turned away from Eric and started fiddling with his Easter basket. Eric looked at his friend for a few more seconds before quickly turning back to the playground.

The youth minister started counting down _3… 2… 1… go!_ Eric, Ryan, and the rest of the elementary schoolers sprinted onto the playground to search for the candy, small toys, and treats that awaited them. While the smaller kids stuck to the easy eggs that were scattered on the ground and on the small playground equipment, the older kids searched in the hard to reach places, the hidden corners, and the climbing tree that they all knew so well.

Eric watched Ryan scale the climbing tree with fourth-grade-expertise to reach the highest and most difficult egg on the playground – the egg that was poised at the top of the branch that only the bravest of upper elementary and middle schoolers dared to reach. Eric forgot about his own quest for a few moments in favor of watching Ryan and his daring feat. Eric was struck breathless by his friend’s skill and agility as he scaled the tree. Only after Ryan reached the top, grabbed the egg, and started climbing back down the tree did Eric pick up the egg that he was in the middle of finding when Ryan started climbing. Ryan saw Eric at the top of the jungle gym and looked up at him, holding the egg up for Eric to see. Eric slid down the slide and ran over to Ryan.

“That was awesome!” Eric exclaimed, high fiving his best friend.

 “Thanks!” Ryan replied. “Do you think there are any more eggs anywhere?”

“I don’t know, the little kids cleared out the field and the sandbox pretty well already, and I just got all the eggs that were near the top of the slide.”

Most of the kids were already outside the playground, either with their parents or in small groups going through their eggs and trading candies. Ryan and Eric joined them, sitting with each other in an empty spot in the small yard. They opened all their eggs, talking and laughing with childlike naïveté.

Eric liked spending time with Ryan. He was fun, and he always made Eric smile and laugh. The two of them were joined at the hip from first grade on, and Eric wouldn’t want it any other way. Eric liked that they played so well together, and they never fought like other friends did. And Ryan didn’t want to play violent games like the other boys did – they all wrestled and play-fought and played with Nerf guns. And Eric likes some of those games – sometimes. But Eric and Ryan played tag and Mario Kart on their Game Boys. Eric liked how Ryan made funny jokes while also being nice, too. Most of the rest of the fourth grade made jokes that weren’t that funny and usually mean as well – but not Ryan. He was always kind to everyone, especially Eric. Eric liked how light glinted off of Ryan’s hair when he was in the sun, and how when Ryan smiled Eric got that funny rumbly feeling in his stomach.

Suddenly, it clicked in Eric’s mind. For a moment, his surroundings faded away, and he was lost in his thoughts. Something about how he felt about Ryan felt _wrong_. He liked how he felt, and he liked his best friend, but there was still this settling feeling in Eric’s chest that he couldn’t get rid of. It was like there was a ball of energy right on top of his heart. But this was Ryan, and he liked Ryan – he was Eric’s best friend in the world. Why did this feeling feel good but also hurt? Eric didn’t understand what was going on. Maybe he should ask Mama about it… but Eric also felt like he had to keep this to himself – why did he feel so wrong, but still so right?

“Eric? Hey, Eric!” Ryan’s bouncing voice brought Eric back into the church’s yard. “Do you want my Snickers for your Twizzlers?”

“Sure,” Eric replied, still dazed by his sudden realization. _What was he going to do?_

 


	2. Nightly News

_June 26, 2005 - Bittle living room, around 6:30 PM_ __

_And in other news, lesbian and gay New Yorkers flooded the streets today as part of the NYC Pride Parade, covering much of central New York City, including Fifth Avenue and Central Park. Andrew, what is your take on this, celebration?_

A young, confused Eric Bittle covertly watched the TV, which was playing the nightly Fox News. Usually, he ignored Coach's news in favor of his toys, homework, or really anything else, but tonight struck Eric in a way that pulled him in. Eric watched as the news flashed clips of men and women marching and celebrating in costumes and bright colors with lots of rainbow flags. Something settled down in the pit of Eric's stomach, just enough for Eric to notice the feeling but not enough for him to think deeply about it. His happy mood started to taper when he heard the editorial of the news anchor.

_Thanks, Michelle. Honestly, I think this year's Pride parade has gone too far. This is New York we're talking about, and so we're used to the gays being overt about their, preferences, but there is a difference between meeting other men at the Stonewall Inn, and cross dressing and marching in the streets! I mean, there are children and families every day walking the streets of New York. How are parents supposed to explain this to their kids?_

_That's a good_ point, _Andrew. The NYC Pride Parade is one of many gay pride parades held this month across the country in large cities, such as New York, Boston, and Chicago, and all of these parades are a public place that is shared by not only the gay community but also families, churches, and other people and groups that could be made uncomfortable by their overt display of homosexuality and provocative costume, gestures, and message._

Eric felt belated. The news of the parade seemed bad, even though the sight of the parade seemed so uplifting. Eric didn't understand the discontinuity between the scenes of the parade and the opinion of the two anchors. He wanted to ask Coach, but Eric didn't get the chance to do so before Coach started speaking.

"Seems about right that those damn gays would have some sort of parade," Coach said, gesturing to the television angrily. "Can't anything be kept decent and Christian anymore?"

Eric shied away from his father, inconspicuously stealing away to the kitchen where his mother was baking a pie for her bible study's meeting. The smell of a fresh apple pie was a sweet relief from the tension that had suddenly risen in the living room.

When Eric walked in the kitchen, he heard his mother talking on the phone to Eric's MooMaw, holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stirred a pot on the stove. Eric's mother faced away from the door, and so Eric entered unnoticed.

"I just don't know, Mama," Eric's mother said, her sweet southern tilt shrouded with worry, "I know he likes girly things, and he's not real rough and tumble like the other boys in his grade, but he's just a soft-hearted boy.... No, he hasn't said anything about a crush on any of the girls, but he's only ten Mama... yes, I remember Christopher Murphy from the second grade, but just because I fell head over heels for a boy by the age of six doesn't mean that Dicky might just be a late bloomer....

"No, Mama, I couldn't take him out of figure skating, he loves it, and he's really good at it too, for his age.... I know it's a girl's sport, but there's another boy in his class, too, it's not just him....

"I'm trying not to think about that, Mama. I don't know what I would do if my little boy brought home someone other than a girl for the holidays.... I agree! This is a Christian household and we are a Christian family. This is Georgia for goodness sakes! I don't want Dicky surrounded by that stuff, it's just not Christ-like....

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Mama. I've still got a good few more years of my little boy before I really gotta start worrying about that.... alright, you go read your new book. Goodnight, Mama.... I love you too."

Eric just heard the end of their conversation as he left the kitchen and headed to his room and shut the door behind him. Eric looked around at the amalgam of posters that adorned his walls - a poster of Michelle Kwan, mid turn, a poster for Kelly Clarkson's newest album, and a big Georgia Bulldogs flag. Eric started to tear up, although he didn't fully understand why. He felt that same ball of energy on his heart that he felt when he realized he had a crush on Ryan. It hurt, the same way it would hurt if someone were to step on his chest. Eric started to cry. What was Mama talking about to MooMaw? And why did everyone seem so angry about the gays? All Eric saw was a bunch of happy people in a parade. And why was MooMaw talking about making him stop taking figure skating lessons? So what if it was a girl's sport? It's not like he had to wear a dress.

Eric collapsed onto his pillow and kept crying. His nose got stuffy and he started to take short, loud breaths through his mouth between bouts of tears. Through his sobs, Eric heard the quiet, sweet voice of his mother at the door.

"Dicky?" Mama said, her voice flooded with concern. "Are you alright, sweetpea?"

Eric turned to look as his mother. His face was puffy and streaked with tears. Mama automatically went over to Eric and held him as he curled into her chest and continued crying.

"Honey, why are you crying?" Mama asked softly.

Eric tried to calm down his crying enough to speak, but his words instead became part of his sobs. "I don't know, Mama, I don't know."

"It's okay, honey, I'm here now." Eric's mother stroked his head, trying to calm Eric down.

A few moments of silence between the two pass, punctuated only by intermittent cries from Eric. "Please don't make me quit skating, Mama, I don't wanna stop skating."

Eric's mother had to stifle a relieved laugh. "Is that what this is about, Dicky? Sweetpea, MooMaw was just sayin' how she thinks you might like being in some sports with boys too, like football. I know you weren't a big fan of the peewee football league your daddy coached, but maybe you'd like playing it in middle school."

Eric looked up at his mother. "You don't care that I like girl stuff?" He asked, desperately seeking his mother's approval.

"I just want you to be happy."

Eric smiled and sunk back down into the loving embrace of his mother, savoring the comfort she gave him.


	3. Treehouse

_October 25, 2007 - Ryan's treehouse, far past bedtime_

"Hey, Eric, can I tell you something? You have to promise to keep it a secret."

"Sure, Ryan. What is it?"

The two boys sat opposite each other in the small treehouse. It used to seem to much bigger to Eric, when he and Ryan were smaller. Now, there was barely room for the two of them, where there used to be room for them to both lay in their sleeping bags next to each other during sleepovers. Eric looked at Ryan's curls, and how perfectly they fit his head. He watched Ryan's mouth curl up into a small, but excited smile, a smile that made Eric feel just as excited as Ryan did. Eric felt the same butterflies in his stomach that he felt every time he was wth Ryan, although he tried to hide it. It had been two years since Eric realized that he felt something other than just friendship for Ryan, and his feelings for his best friend had only gotten stronger. He hated it.

"So yesterday, I went to the movies with Jason, Kenzie, Meghan, and Adam, right?"

"Yeah, you told me about it." Eric hadn't gone because of his skating practice.

"Well, afterwards, Kenzie and I were waiting for my mom to pick us up, and everyone else had already left, and guess what happened."

"What?"

"She. Kissed. Me. Kenzie kissed me!" Ryan recounted the story with excitement while Eric listened.

Well, half listened. When Ryan said that Kenzie kissed him, Eric felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. The butterflies that he felt when Ryan smiled, or made a joke, or even just looked at Eric was replaced by a wave of nausea that Eric had to focus on to resist the urge to cry. Eric faked a smile as he tried to mirror the excitement on Ryan's face.

After Ryan had finished talking, Eric pulled himself back into the conversation. "That's really great," he said, feigning excitement.

Ryan picked up on Eric's feelings immediately. "Well, yeah. It was pretty great. But don't worry, you'll kiss a girl someday - you know my brother didn't have his first kiss until he was 16, and you're a lot cooler than him. So you've got, like, plenty of time."

Eric could tell that Ryan was trying to cheer him up, but his promise of eventual kisses-from-girls didn't comfort Eric at all. What if I don't want to kiss girls? He thought. Eric dismissed this, however, and focused on his best friend's attempt to cheer him up. Eric tried to force his feelings down, let himself feel less terrible about this whole situation.

"I mean, I guess your right," Eric laughed.

"Yeah, I mean, just because Kenzie kissed me in sixth grade doesn't mean that you're, like, doomed to never be kissed."

"Yeah."

There was silence between the two friends, a moment of awkward understanding. Eric braced himself. If he was going to tell anyone about how he felt, it was going to be Ryan, in this treehouse, on this night. "Ryan?" He said, hesitation seeping into his simple question.

"Yeah?" Ryan replied.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"Okay, but you have to promise to keep it a secret."

"What are friends for?"

Eric paused, breathing slowly through his mouth, trying to slow down his rapidly beating heart. "Okay. So, you know how you said that I would... kiss a girl someday?"

"Yeah?" Ryan replied, confused yet curious.

Eric hesitated again. He could turn back now. After this, there was no taking this back, but right now he could stop. He could keep this to himself, bottled up and locked away where it went. Eric ignored his urge to stop. He had to tell Ryan. "I don't think I want to. Kiss a girl, I mean."

Ryan laughed. "Well I mean, maybe not right now, but you will someday. Every guy wants to. Honestly, girls are really hot. And kissing is hot."

Eric didn't know how to respond. Ryan didn't understand what Eric was trying to say. Eric didn't know how to fix it, either. He couldn't bring himself to say, 'I like boys.' He couldn't do it. It was one thing to not like girls, but it was worse to like boys.

"What if," Eric started again, "what if I never like girls?"

Ryan looked away from Eric awkwardly, trying to find what words to say. Eric could see the inkling of understanding in Ryan's eyes, but Ryan did not want to admit the truth of how Eric felt. Not to Eric, not to himself, not to the world. Finally, Ryan responded. "I mean, you probably will eventually. Some guys are just late bloomers. Maybe you'll like girls in high school - or, or even college!"

Eric sighed. He knew Ryan was trying to understand, trying to make this better - and that's what Eric was doing too! But they went about it different ways. Eric tried to hard to ignore how he was feeling. Tears that he thought he a quashed started welling back up in Eric's eyes. He blinked them back. He felt fear and sadness and anger bubbling in the back of his throat. He swallowed it back down.

"You know what? It's nothing. You're probably right," Eric acquiesced, giving in to Ryan's interpretation. _Maybe he is right,_ Eric thought. _Maybe I just need to wait and see what happens._

_I can get through this. I can ignore this. It's nothing. Guys don't like guys, I'm just being stupid. Even guys who like girly things. Really, if I like girly things so much shouldn't I like girls more? I don't like boy stuff, so why do I like boys?_

Eric looked at his watch and yawned. "I should probably go to bed. I'm tired."

"Yeah, man, me too."

"Okay," Eric said, starting to get up to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow at school?"

"Yeah, totally. See you then," Ryan said. Eric left the treehouse, climbing down and running back to his house where he snuck in the back door and crept up to his room.

 


	4. Locker Room Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, this chapter includes quite a few uses of homophobic slurs, so if you don't want to be reading that please do not read this chapter! The slurs are used to add to the gravity of the situation and the characterization of the supporting characters. Thank you for reading!

_October 26, 2007 - the boy's locker room, 3:30 PM_

Eric walked into the locker room, just like every day. It was time for football practice. He wasn't the biggest fan of football, but he found that playing football was a good compromise for Coach, so that Eric could keep figure skating without worrying his dad about him doing girly sports. Coach said he supported Eric in whatever he did, but Eric knew that Coach felt awkward whenever Eric talked about his new routine or the outfit design for his next competition. He could see it in Coach's face and hear it in the tone of his voice. Football is all he had with his dad.

The locker room's normal rumble hushed to a low whispers as Eric walked in the door and put his bag down in front of his locker. It took Eric a few moments of enjoying the quiet before he heard what some of the boys were saying.

"He's so gay, man," one boy whispered.

"I mean, it's pretty obvious. Doesn't he figure skate or some shit?"

Eric started listening in. They were talking about him. A terrible, ominous feeling settled on his chest. His breathing shallowed as his heartbeat hastened. Eric tried to ignore the boys, but their words cut through his entire being like knives.

The boys went on. "Some sissy shit like that. I don't care about him enough to know what faggy stuff he does."

A third boy chimed in, whispering in hushed, but pointed, tones, "You know he can probably hear you, right?"

The first boy raised his voice, speaking now to the newcomer to the conversation. "I don't care what he hears! He's a fag and he knows it! I'm just saying what's true. Bittle might be the high school coach's kid, but he's a fag who's gonna end up going to hell for all his gay shit!"

The locker room was dead silent - quieter than it had ever been. Eric could have heard a pin drop on the soft rubber floors. Instead, all he heard was the rush of his pulse in his ears, and all he felt was the clinch of his fits and the overwhelming urge to cry that was filling his chest and throat. Eric stood stiff facing his locker. He didn't move. He didn't cry. He didn't make a noise.

Ryan broke the silence. "Where the hell did you get the idea he was gay, man? Who said that?"

"You did!" The angry boy exclaimed. "You came in here and told me that we needed to set that fag up on a date because he didn't like girls! If he doesn't like girls, then he likes guys. Which proves that he's the fucking fag we always knew he was!"

Eric clinched his teeth. Every muscle in his body was shaking from the tension that it took to stand still instead of running out of the locker room in tears. He instead took in all the words that were being said about him, and they sunk down into his chest, feeding the festering ball of stress that had been growing on his heart for years.

Ryan didn't respond with words, but only with a sigh before walking away from the fight. He stepped next to Eric, facing the lockers. "I'm sorry," he said, placing a well-meant hand on Eric's shoulder. "I just wanted to help you."

Eric shrugged Ryan's hand off his shoulder, grabbed his bag and walked out of the locker room without saying a word. _It can't hurt to skip a practice_ , Eric thought. _Really, it'd hurt a lot less_. Eric marched out of the school, each step filled with anger, dread, sadness, and loathing. He wiped away a tear that fell down his cheek.

 _But what if they were right? Was he a fag?_ He heard kids at his school use that word everyday, but this was the first time that it really, truly hurt. He never liked it, really he couldn't stand it, but Eric didn't know how to respond to being called one. Everything that he heard about, that, was bad - it was ugly, shameful, sinful. Eric remembered back to flashes of a parade of happy people with rainbow flags on the TV. He was pretty sure they were gay, but then why did everyone who surrounded him - people who said they loved their neighbor, loved their friends, _loved Eric_ \- seem so hateful, and acted so hateful?

Eric leaned against the wall of the school building before sliding down and sitting in the patchy, washed out Georgia grass. He couldn't take it anymore, and he burst into sobs. _Why did this hurt so much? Why did Ryan say those things about me? Why did the other guys suddenly start hating me, when they apparently thought I was a fag all along?_ Eric didn't know what to do. He couldn't quit football, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to deal with this everyday. His thoughts twisted and turned inside his head, each thought becoming more rapid and more stressful. He cut himself off before he totally freaked out. He had to calm down - he couldn't to this. Not here, not now. If he could just ignore what they said about him - to his face, behind his back, when they thought he wasn't listening - then he could be okay. _The hard part is ignoring them_.


	5. Happy Valentine's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the last chapter, there is a place where a slur appears once, but it is not as extensive as last chapter. Reader's discretion advised.

_February 14, 2008 - Eric Bittle's locker, before first period_

Eric was relieved football season was over. That meant one less place a day where he was surrounded by angry, mean people. Instead, he got an extra hour of skating practice everyday. Plus, he avoided the locker room, which was the worst part of his day. He still had to deal with the football team during school, but their nasty words were mitigated by the presence of teachers, administrators, and other classmates. Their loud, hateful words were dulled to quiet, hateful whispers - which Eric could deal with a lot easier.

This year so far had taken a toll on Eric. Not only did he have to transition from elementary school to middle school, but he also had to deal with puberty and bullies all at the same time?! Eric was struggling. It was just too much at once. 

Over the course of the year, Eric had started getting more closed off. If he interacted with people less, then he gave them less of a chance to hurt him. Eric walked up to his locker listening to Dangerously in Love on shuffle, hoping that it would be a calm morning. Eric opened his locker to get out his books for first period. 

Instead of a history book, all his books were gone. Someone had replaced all of Eric's books, folders, pencils, and pictures with paper roses and handwritten valentines - so many that they fell out of his locker and onto the floor, in front of everybody in the crowded hall. 

Eric's first reaction was surprise.  _Never in his life_  had Eric expected anything like this. But instead of his next response being happiness, Eric felt terrified. He knew who gave him the valentines, and he knew they were not declarations of love - or even  _like_. Cautiously, as if they could physically hurt him, Eric picked up one of the crudely made valentines from the bottom of his locker. It was made of red construction paper and had the word "FAG" written in gold glitter on the front. 

It was already bad. Eric didn't want to open it, but he felt compelled to - like a car wreck: you can't watch but you also can't look away. The inside contained a poem:

 

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_I hope you liked this glitter_

_It'll be there in hell with -_

 

Eric closed the card. If Eric were less terrified, he would have tried to laugh off the hateful words with facetious appreciation of the work that the football team put into making him feel like shit. But in that moment, all Eric could do was try to control his urge to run as he walked quickly to his history class, wiping a tear from his cheek before he thought anyone else had seen. 

Luckily, the classroom was empty. He still had fifteen minutes before first period. The rest of the class wouldn't be in there for at least another ten minutes. Eric couldn't hold himself back anymore. He broke down and started crying, his sleeves catching his tears before they hit the desk. In his hand, Eric still clutched the valentine. He curled his hand into a fist, crumpling the valentine, fine glitter cascading onto the faux wood desk. 

The door opened and shut. Eric kept his head down, but silenced his tears. He heard footsteps approaching him. “Eric, honey, are you alright?” Mrs. McFadden asked, her voice both soothing and worried. Eric’s history teacher placed a light hand on Eric’s shoulder. Eric could feel his worry start to ease away, although the ball of stress in his chest remained. He thought about ignoring his teacher, burying his head deeper into his hoodie, but he eventually looked up slightly at his teacher. Mrs. McFadden wore a small, hopeful smile when Eric first looked up, but her smile turned into a frown when she saw the tears staining Eric’s face. Her wrinkles deepened along with her worry.

“Eric, what’s wrong?”

Eric didn’t want to respond. He couldn’t respond. He tried to open his mouth to say something along the lines of _I don’t want to talk about it_ , but instead of speaking, Eric’s swelled with tears once more and he looked away before Mrs. McFadden could see him cry.

Mrs. McFadden must have noticed the crumpled note in Eric’s hand, because while Eric had his head buried in his arms, there was a gentle tug at the paper. Eric let go before realizing what it was. He sat up, wanting to stop his teacher from reading the note, but he was too late.

“Wait – Mrs. McFadden, don’t – it’s nothing!” Eric exclaimed, reaching for the note, but the damage had been done.

“Eric, who made this?” Mrs. McFadden asked with intense seriousness.

Eric looked up at her, his heart starting to beat. He thought about telling her the truth – the endless insults, ugly looks, and slurs that had flooded his world five days a week, the three to four nights a week Eric found himself sleeping on a pillow wet from his tears, the _physical pain_ that his torment had caused. But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to say those things out loud. If he admitted what was happening out loud, he would have to face the fact that it was real. It felt real, he knew it was real, but if Eric admitted it to Mrs. McFadden, then there would be no way for Eric to stay in denial.

“I don’t know,” Eric answered, is voice the size of a mouse.

Mrs. McFadden paused for a moment. Eric could see the disbelief in her eyes, and he knew that she knew that he knew who had made the card. An eternal moment passes, and Mrs. McFadden acquiesced. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said, “but we have to tell Mrs. Martino about this.”

Eric panicked. Telling the principal meant that everyone would know – his teachers would know, his parents would know, and the football team _would know he snitched._ “Please don’t tell Mrs. Martino,” Eric pleaded, “If she knows, then the whole school will know, and then it’ll just get worse! Can you please just ignore this? I promise it’s not that bad, it really isn’t. It’s just a stupid card.”

“A stupid, horrible card made by bullies who made you come into my classroom at eight o’clock in the morning crying. That’s not something I can ignore, Eric. You’re one of my students, and I care about your wellbeing – and that includes telling Mrs. Martino if someone is bullying you. It’s not just an obligation, it’s my responsibility to protect you.”

Eric sighed, looking back down at his desk to avoid eye contact with Mrs. McFadden. He didn’t want her to see the fear and pain in his eyes. “If I tell Mrs. Martino, then it could just get worse,” Eric started. He kept his voice calm, trying to stop himself from crying again. Anger rose to match its counterpart sadness. “How could I deal with it then?” He looked up at his teacher with pleading, angry, fearful eyes. Eric tried to stay strong, keep looking at Mrs. McFadden with the same strength that she seemed to have, but the concern ingrained into Mrs. McFadden’s face broke Eric’s anger.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Eric said, hanging his head.

“That’s okay, honey,” Mrs. McFadden replied, placing a hand on Eric’s shoulder again. “Let’s go see Mrs. Martino, alright? I’m going to go ask Mr. Brown to watch your class for a few minutes and I’m going to go with you.”

Eric nodded, slowly rising to go talk to his principal. He wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his jacket before Mrs. McFadden handed him a tissue as they walked out the door. Eric dried his face to the best of his abilities and blew his nose. He was ready as he would ever be. He had to face this.


	6. And how does that make you feel?

_March 10, 2008 – University of Georgia Children and Family Counseling Department, Athens, GA_

“So, Eric,” Eric’s new therapist started, “how are you?”

Eric hated vague questions like that. His life was not either _good_ or _bad_. School sucked, yes, but he had figure skating, which he loved, and baking with his mama, which was always a nice end to a day – or a nice day. Did he tell him how he only got shoved into his locker once today? Or how he had landed a double Lutz for the first time yesterday? Eric gave up trying to formulate a real response and opted for the typical, “Pretty good, I guess.”

“You know I can’t help you if you don’t open up to me,” Mr. Duncan, or Patrick as he insisted Eric call him, said.

Eric hesitated. There was only so much that he could tell Mr. Duncan – there were some things that he couldn’t bring himself to tell someone else, and some things he didn’t even want to admit to himself. “Well,” Eric pulled the end of the word like taffy, avoiding saying what was actually important. “The boys on the football team only bothered me once today, so I guess that’s good. Oh – and I landed a new jump in skating practice yesterday, which was awesome.”

“That’s good.” Mr. Duncan paused, as if making a mental note of Eric’s responses. He never took notes in the middle of a session; he claimed that it made their “chats” more clinical and less therapeutic. After a moment, Mr. Duncan continued. “That new jump must’ve made you feel pretty good about yourself – it takes a lot of hard work to make big strides like that. But let’s talk about the football team again. Why do you think they are bullying you like this? 

“I don’t know,” Eric said, “I guess they just think I’m different – I’m the shortest kid on the team, I listen to, I guess, girly music, and I figure skate.”

_It wasn’t a total lie,_ Eric told himself. _They do think all those things – they just also think I’m… something else. But can I tell him that? What would he think of me? He’s supposed to be on my side, but what if I’m just too weird for him too?_ Eric’s thoughts kept racing through his head, dragging him deeper and deeper into a hole. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because after what felt like both a second and an eternity, Mr. Duncan pulled Eric out of his thoughts and back to the small, comforting office.

“Eric, are you listening?” Mr. Duncan said. Apparently he had been talking to Eric.

“No, sir, I guess I zoned out, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mr. Duncan said. A beat passed. “What were you thinking about?”

“Just nothing.”

“It didn’t seem like nothing.”

Eric was tempted to tell him what the football team really thought about him. He wanted to – maybe if Mr. Duncan knew what was going on, fully, and then he could help Eric. But something held Eric back from telling Mr. Duncan. The ball of stress in his chest tightened, filling his chest with an uncomfortable warmth, like a mug that was just warm enough that it hurt to hold, but not hot enough that it burned. It was a warning to Eric – _he can’t tell Mr. Duncan._ He thought about it further, not being able to stop his sprinting thoughts, and the stress turned into a wave of nausea that threatened Eric more urgently than the burning in his chest.

“I promise,” Eric said, “I was just looking out the window.” Eric attempted to feign a small smile, but it felt strained on his lips. He knew Mr. Duncan could see through his emotions – that was his job – but Eric didn’t care. He couldn’t tell Mr. Duncan any more about the boys’ reasoning than he already knew.

Mr. Duncan propped his elbows on his knees and looked intently at Eric, locking eye contact with him. “Eric,” he said, his voice even more serious than before, “I know that is different. It’s hard to open up – to anyone, much less a near-stranger, but I cannot help you if you can’t tell me what’s bothering you. The whole truth.”

_I wish I could,_ Eric thought. Their conversation continued in this fashion for the remainder of their hour session, ending with a still quietly frustrated Mr. Duncan and a quietly scared Eric.

On the drive home, Eric’s mother had plenty of time to ask Eric about his session with Mr. Duncan. Eric knew that Mr. Duncan had specifically told her not to ask him a lot of questions about it, but Eric also knew his mama, and he knew that she would anyway. No matter how much she knew he needed space, her worry for her son’s wellbeing outweighed the advice of a graduate student.

“Did you have a good talk with Mr. Duncan?”

“Yes, Mama, it was good.”

“What did y’all talk about?”

“Not much.”

“I thought you said it was good?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Okay.”

Eventually, she gave up trying to get a response from Eric. Over the course of the year, Eric had gotten more closed off from his parents – part of the reason Eric’s mother now drove him all the way to Athens to see a therapist once a week. The other reason was because the school counselor recommended it after the whole Valentine’s Day fiasco. Eric and his mother spent the rest of the drive in silence, the quiet sound of pop music coming from the radio the only sound between the two. 

When the Bittles got home, Eric went to his room. He tossed his bag aside and threw himself onto his bed. Eric didn’t know how he was going to get through an hour with Mr. Duncan every week without confessing to him that everyone on the football team – and by this time, probably his whole grade, or even the whole school – thought that he was going to go to hell for liking boys instead of girls. _What if I didn’t like boys? Do I have to like boys – what if I, just, decided to like girls? I like female_ celebrities _, why can’t I like girls my age?_

Eric sighed. He couldn’t do that. The moment he said it, he felt his mind and his body both revolt against the idea. It’s not that he had anything against _girls_ ; he just also knew in his soul that he did not think they were _cute,_ or whatever guys were supposed to think about girls in the sixth grade – or any grade past when no one has any romantic feelings. Eric knew in his soul that he liked _boys_ , not girls. Admitting that to himself felt wrong and right at the same time; one part of him could accept nothing else, and the other part of him kicked the first part because everything around him heralded that boys liking boys was _wrong_. His church, his parents, his classmates, his family – everyone. If everyone else said he was wrong, why did agreeing with them feel wrong too?


	7. Closet

_October 16, 2008_ – _a utility closet outside the boy’s locker room, late at night_

 

_Cause I, I'm in love with you, you set me free_

_I can't do this thing called life without you here with me_

_Cause I'm dangerously in love with you_

_I'll never leave, just keep loving me_

_The way I love you, loving me_

 

Eric didn’t know how long he had been in the cramped closet. He didn’t know if there was anyone else in the school – it was late, and the only reason he had been here was because there was a football game that he had to play in. And now he was in this closet, singing quietly to himself, not only hoping that there might happen to be someone who would hear him, but to calm himself down as well. Eric felt trapped. He was trapped.

At least the closet was big enough that he had room to sit down, stand up, and walk around in a small circle. Eric had watched shows and movies where the bullies shoved the ugly, stereotypical nerd in a locker – at least Eric wasn’t locked in a locker. But at least those kids weren’t stuck at night, alone in the dark and quiet. In the movies, the kid would bang on the metal locker, their screams reverberating in the hall along with the cacophonous canned laughter playing in the background as the bullies laughed before a teacher comes by, only about thirty seconds later, and the bullies scatter and the teacher lets the kid out of the locker, and the kid looks relieved and the teacher crosses their arms and shakes their head in disappointment.

Eric didn’t have that. He was alone. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what his parents were thinking right now, and he didn’t know when he would get out of the closet. _Am I going to be in here all night?_ Eric thought to himself. The thought terrified him. He felt his hands shaking slightly, the shiver extending to his arms and his stomach as he slid down the door, leaning against the hard surface, sitting on the tile floor. His stomach lurched as he hid his face in his hands, and Eric could feel the urge to cry. _It’s not like anyone would see me crying in here_ , Eric thought.

Eventually, Eric fell asleep sitting up against the door of the utility closet. When Eric woke up, he was greeted by a concerned looking custodian. Groggy, tired, and sore, Eric shot up from where he was sitting and hugged the shocked custodian. After a moment, she hugged him back, patting his back comfortingly. After a moment, the two pulled away.

“What are you doing in here, honey?” The custodian asked.

Eric looked down at the floor. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, it can’t have been good. Do your parents know you’re here?”

“No, ma’am. I have to imagine they’re worried sick.”

“Well you come with me and we’re gonna call them. It’s a little early to be calling people, but I can bet that you’re mama’s gonna care more about you being safe than you calling them before even the Good Lord himself wakes up.”

Eric cracked a smile, following the kind custodian to the main office to call his parents. When they got to the office, the custodian unlocked the door and gestured for Eric to go in. “I’m going to wait just here, give you a little privacy to call your parents. You know how to make an outgoing call on the school phones?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said, “I’ll be right here.”

Eric entered the office and crept to the phone. The view out of the windows was still pitch black. The small display on the phone said that it was 4:30 in the morning. Eric dialed his home phone number and nearly immediately got an answer.

“Eric?” His mother asked, her voice making her sound scared and sleep deprived.

Eric choked back a sob of relief. “Yes, mama, it’s me. I’m at the school.”

Eric could hear his mother start to cry. After a few moments, Eric heard his mother yell in the background “Sweetheart, it’s him – he’s okay!" 

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. We were so worried,” Eric’s mother said, this time speaking directly to Eric.

“I know, I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Why are you up at the school?”

“It’s a really long story, Mama. And I promise I’ll tell you, but can you please just come pick me up right now?”

“Okay, Dicky, I’m on my way right now. Are you with anybody?”

“Yes, ma’am, there’s a custodian here who found me.”

“Good. You stay with them and don’t leave their sight until I’m there. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

His mother hung up the phone, and Eric put down his receiver as well. He sniffled and wiped a stray tear from his face. He felt so relieved. This night of horrors was almost over, now he just had to tell his mother what happened.

A short ten minutes later, Eric was in his mother’s arms, his mother holding him tightly to her, with no intention of ever letting him go. Eric hugged her back with all his strength. He was so glad to be back in a safe place. After a long, much needed hug, Eric’s mother pulled back slightly, holding Eric at arms length and looking at her son. Eric could see the love and worry mixed together in the creases of her eyes and the curve of her soft smile. She ran a hand through his hair lightly before pulling Eric back into a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re safe.”

Eric didn’t respond, instead just hugging his mother and burying his worry in her embrace. Eventually the mother and son left the school and went back to the car, Eric’s mother driving him home. 

When the two pulled up to the Bittle home and got out of the car, Eric was immediately pulled into a hug from his father. Eric was so relieved to see his dad. It might have only been a night, but it had felt like an eternity. The small family stood in the dark for a few minutes while Eric and his father hugged. Eventually, Eric pulled away.

“Can we go inside please?” Eric asked.

His parents reacted as if it had just occurred to them that it was pitch black and slightly chilly outside. “Oh,” Coach said, “of course.”

The Bittles went inside and sat down in the living room. Eric sat on the couch, turning to face his parents who sat next to him. His mother took his hands, holding them lightly in hers.

“Eric,” his mama started, “what happened?” Her voice dripped with worry, her eyes pleading for Eric to tell them the truth. 

Eric hesitated, looking away from his concerned parents. A moment passed before he began talking. “It was the guys on the football team. We were in the locker room, after the game, and…” Eric paused, trying to regain his composure. 

“And they started making fun of me. They hate me.”

“Oh honey,” Eric’s mom exclaimed, pulling Eric into a hug. “But how did you end up going missing all night?”

“Well, I left the locker room, because I couldn’t listen to them anymore. But they followed me. They were shoving me, and yelling and making fun of me, and eventually they thought to put me in the closet. I don’t know why. They’re just mean. And I don’t know why it was open, but it was… until they closed it, with me in it.” 

By this point Eric and his mother were both crying. Coach, more stoic than his wife and son, sat behind Eric’s mother, quietly blinking back the tears welling up in his eyes. At the end of Eric’s story Eric collapsed into his mother’s embrace, letting her hold him as they both cried before Coach got Eric and Eric’s mother to get up from the couch and go to bed. Eric slept with his parents until late in the morning, when the three of them eventually woke up, still exhausted despite the rest and relief.

As Eric’s mother cooked the three of them a late breakfast of eggs and bacon, Eric’s parents discussed the situation.

“What are we going to do, honey?” Eric’s mother asked his father.

“We have to move. This can’t stand. I can’t have my boy in a place where he’s not safe. This was the last straw. It’s one thing to have to deal with name-calling and taunts – that’s bad, but this? This was inexcusable. _We had to call the police._ They virtually kidnapped our son. We can’t send Eric back to that school – I won’t let him go, and I know you wouldn’t either.” Coach punctuated the end of his statement by slamming the orange juice carton down on the table, spilling some of the juice. His concern had turned to anger – not at Eric, but at every other involved party.

“Dicky,” his mother asked, moving the scrambled eggs on the skillet, “what do you think?”

“Mama, I haven’t wanted to go to that school for a year now. And last night? I was terrified. It felt like I was never going to get out of that closet, and I don’t want to step foot in that school again. I can’t face those boys.”

Eric’s mother smiled sadly at his son as she resigned to what her family needed to do. “Okay,” she said, “I agree. I don’t want you going back to that school. And if that means we need to move, that’s what we’ll do. There’s plenty of places nearby where we can move.”

 

By that evening, Eric’s mother had pulled Eric out of the school officially, collected his things from his locker, from the locker room, and from his teachers, and returned all his books for him. Eric wrote letters to his favorite teachers, telling them why he was leaving and how much he appreciated them. He really had had good teachers, but the rest of the school ruined the silver lining. Coach, by the time Suzanne had returned from the middle school, had quit his job at the high school and lined up another coaching job in Madison, GA, even though it meant a small pay cut. He had also found house listings that he thought his wife would like and contacted a real estate agent to help them sell their house.

In two short weeks, the Bittles packed up their house, bought a new house in Madison, and started moving in. That next Monday, Eric started over in a new school – new teachers, new students, and new expectations. Eric did his best to go into the school that Monday with an optimistic attitude, doing his best to overcome the burning ball of stress and encapsulated Eric’s heart, his breath hitching as he stepped over the threshold of the front door.


	8. "First Video"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I've posted! The new school semester kind of hit me like a freight train, but I found some time to write this chapter. I tried something a little different, so hopefully you guys like it!

_ittybitbunny95 - "First Video" - Posted 11/4/08, 7:46 PM_

"So, hi, I guess. It's me."

Eric stared awkwardly into his webcam before looking down. His face took up most of the screen, but the background showed the white walls and cardboard boxes surrounding Eric's bed with bright blue sheets.

Eric started again. "Um, I just moved, and now that I'm farther from my therapist than before, he told me that making video journals might be a good way to kind of, talk, while I'm not going to see him every week. So, yeah. That's what this is."

There was an awkward pause while Eric gathered his thoughts. His face blushed slightly, although it was barely noticeable on the grainy quality of the webcam video.

"Well, I know this is mine, but I guess a little bit about me. My name is Eric, I'm twelve years old. I guess I don't have much else to say?"

Eric hesitated. "I start at my new school tomorrow. Honestly? I'm really scared. My last school was..."

Eric rubbed his neck and looked down. He blushed, hesitating before finishing his sentence. "It was rough. I had a lot of problems there.

"Namely the football team. They were terrible to me.

"But that's done now. I'm going to go to a new school tomorrow and it's going to be better." Eric exhaled like he had been holding his breath for all too long. "My parents sacrificed a lot for this. We moved to a completely new town, my dad quit his job, but this is good. I needed this - we all needed this. I don't want to worry my parents any more than they already worry.

"I'm gonna keep figure skating - there's a new coach near here that's supposed to be really good - but I'm gonna try to be less, worrisome, for my parents too.

"I'm definitely not going to play football. I can't play football - no way. Sorry, dad.

"But maybe something else? I don't really know what else there is. I hope I find something at school tomorrow, maybe.

"But for right now, I'm set up to start with my new figure skating coach on Monday. I'm gonna miss Ms. Jamie, but it'll be okay - I'm excited about this! I'm going to private lessons on Monday and Thursday and group lessons on Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday.

"...I heard about morning practices that some of Ms. Katya's more advanced student go to, but I kind of hope I don't have to go to those." Eric dropped to a near-whisper. "Rumor has it that they're at four in the morning and it's all just hard work outs - not even any ice time!

Eric paused for a second. "I should probably go. My new English teacher sent home the novel they're reading in class right now, and the first ten chapters aren't going to skim themselves."

Eric reached toward the camera and shut it off.

___

_ittybitbunny95 - "Skating" -Posted 11/10/08, 11:25 PM_

"Ms. Kataya is intense. Like, scary intense. But I already feel like I'm going to learn a lot from her. I also already feel sore - very, very sore.

"Today was basically an assessment of what I can do, and I thought I was really good at figure skating, but Ms. Kataya did not seem impressed. It was like nothing I could do could make her show any emotion!" Eric threw up his hands in exasperation.

Eric sighed. "But I think it'll be good. She put me in her lower level juniors class, so I'm going to be mostly with eighth, ninth, and tenth graders which is cool - a little intimidating, but pretty cool. I'm hoping to make some new friends there? Maybe they'll be more, open-minded, than the kids in my hometown.

"I also saw a flyer for a co-ed hockey team while I was at the rink. I think I'm going to try to sign up - it'd give me something a little more, masculine, I guess? Maybe it'd help with the kids at school. And since the hockey team uses the same rink as my figure skating lessons, I'll never have to worry about the practices overlapping - I might just have to change clothes and switch skates in less than ten minutes on some days.

"I already talked to Mama about playing hockey, and she was on board once I told her they don't allow checking - you know, when the hockey players hit each other - she didn't want me to get hurt. Which I agree with, I don't want to get hurt either. But I am excited to try hockey. Maybe I'll like it. And it's kinda like football, except on ice, which makes my dad like it more than my figure skating.

"But school is going good, like I mentioned in my videos last week too. The kids seem nice. My reading teacher wasn't too thrilled with my lack of knowledge on The Giver, but she's giving me extra time to read it before I have to take the test. If I'm being honest, I totally played the "I just moved and everything is hectic I'm so sorry I couldn't focus on reading" card. And Mrs. Roberts totally went with it.

"I haven't made any really good friends yet, but the kids in my class seem generally nice. Today, I ended up sitting with this girl at lunch and we ended up talking about cooking and stuff - she apparently likes to bake like I do! I'm probably gonna try to hang out with Jessica again tomorrow. I don't think I have any classes with her but we have lunch together, which works."

Eric seemed much more relaxed and happy than before. He sat back, farther away from the camera and he spoke excitedly about all of his endeavors. The apparent awkward feeling from his first video had been replaced by excitement and comfort.

There was the distant yelling of Eric's mother, muffled by Eric's closed door. "Dicky! Come here please!"

"Oh, I better go. That's Mama calling me."

Eric smiled slightly before reaching toward the camera and shutting it off.

____

_ittybitbunny95 - "The BEST Chocolate Chip Cookies EVER!"- Posted 11/15/08, 8:32 PM_

"So, I don't really know why there's so many people watching my videos now," Eric started as the video began. The background was different than his previous videos. Instead of sitting at his desk in his room, Eric was standing in his kitchen behind a counter, the light from the window behind him illuminating the video. The video shook ever so slightly.

"But I have 50 subscribers now! And I've mentioned how much I like to bake with my mama now, and so I decided to share one of my favorite recipes with y'all - my mama's _best_ chocolate chip cookies! But since my mom is helping me by filming this on her video camera for me, I have one of my friends helping me cook today!"

Eric gestured to the empty space next to him when Jessica popped up from behind the counter, riddled with giggles. Eric laughed, and the camera shook slightly more prominently. After a moment they regained their composure and Jessica waved at the camera with a small awkward giggle. "Hi!" She welcomed. Then, turning to Eric, "So people are gonna actually watch this online?" She asked, as an aside.

"Yeah," Eric said, "it's really not too many people, but it is more than I ever thought would watch them."

Eric turned to the camera. "So, cookies!"

Jessica agreed quietly, "Cookies!"

Eric went through the rest of the video, explaining the recipe and joking with Jessica along the way. The two friends laughed and baked cookies, stopping frequently to eat the batter and make jokes. At the end of the video, the two waved at the camera one last time before the abrupt ending.

Eric and Jessica spent the rest of their day eating cookies and editing Eric's videos, Jessica pleading for Eric to take out the parts that she thought made her look weird, but insisting he keep in the parts that made him look weird. Despite their good-hearted squabbling, most of the jokes stayed in the video.


	9. Repentance

_6/28/09 - Madison Baptist Church sanctuary, 9:30 AM_

 

They stood, singing the first hymn. The choir entered the sanctuary from the doors in the back, making their way to the front. It was a typical Sunday morning.  

Eric enjoyed his new church. He had made some friends, many of whom he also went to school with, and the teachers and ministers in the church were kind and welcoming. He missed his old church - his old friends, his old teachers and ministers - but Eric knew that it was better here. He could feel it. 

The first half of the service passed with Eric in blithe repetition; he was just going through the motions, but it felt comforting and like he was close to God - the way Eric thought church should feel.

The congregation sat down after the last hymn. The minister made his way to the pulpit, getting ready to deliver his sermon.

The rustling of the congregation hushed. The silence was punctuated by the small cough and the slight crinkle of paper. The minister paused for a moment before speaking. "Will you bow your heads with me." 

Eric looked down at his intertwined fingers in his lap before closing his eyes for the opening prayer. 

"Lord, open our hearts to receive your divine word and guide us along your path toward righteousness each and every day. Give us this time, Lord, to receive your message before we go out into this sinful world to spread your word. Amen."

The congregation all mumbled, "Amen," in unison, repeating after Pastor Hammond. This was how he started every sermon that Eric had heard, and presumably every sermon he had given in this church. It was rote – it was expected, normal, and comforting. Eric was able to mouth the words along with Pastor Hammond as he gave his opening prayer, awaiting the words that came after.

"The Lord," Pastor Hammond paused, seemingly giving the divine being the reverence he deserved, "the Lord is everywhere. 

"The Lord sees all things that we do in our lives; he sees our good works; he sees our shortcomings and our sins; he sees when we go against his word and when we follow it.

"We are a bunch of sinners," the pastor said, once again pausing.

" _We_ ," he emphasized, " _are a bunch of sinners_. There's no doubt about it - no argument, no exception.” There was a hush of quiet agreement in the congregation. Eric saw nods from many of the congregants while others just remained listening intently to the pastor’s message.

"But the difference between us and between the rest of the world is that we repent for our sins and we turn back to the ways of God every time we mess up - we are a  _saved_  people, and we act like it. We want others to do the same – we work every day in this world to spread the word of Christ and urge people to repent for their sins, but not everyone does the same as we do in our lives.

"Other people, they  _choose_  to go against God every day of their lives. Every day people choose to commit adultery, to lie or cheat or steal, or to live a life that ignores the word of God. There are plenty of us in this holy room that do all or some of those things all the time, no matter how hard we try.

"Now, we all know there are consequences for lying and cheating and stealing and adultery. God punishes those who don't repent for their sins, but even before those sinners wait for their name to be called outside of heaven's pearly gates, there are earthly punishments for their sins. People who steal go to jail, people who commit adultery face divorce, those who lie and cheat have individual consequences for their actions.

"But some sins, some sinners who choose to go against the word of God, they don't face any consequences! When a person sins, they must face the consequence of his actions, and that consequence must not only be in heaven but on earth as well!" Pastor Hammond was almost yelling into the microphone at this point in his sermon. His cheeks were red and he leaned over the pulpit, his hands motioning emphatically.

"People who go against the word of God – against the guidance that God gives through Jesus and through the Divine Word - celebrate their sins, and people support their choices! They dance and march in the streets and create obscene places for others. And they aren't celebrating the life that God gave them - they're celebrating their sin, their life against God, against the morals that are supposed to protect our world from sin and corruption. There's a reason all the gays get sick with GRID, no way to sugar coat it, it's because God has to have some sort of earthly punishment for their ways before damnation! Our society sure doesn’t make one!”

Reverend Hammond took a breath. Eric felt sick to his stomach. The comfort that he felt in this church melted away before his eyes. Before where he had seen kind and welcoming teachers and friends, he now saw an entire congregation that followed the word of a God that believed that Eric – and people like Eric – weren’t only sinners, but were _dirty, unrepenting, unforgivable_ sinners who lived their lives inundated in obscenity and sin.

Eric couldn’t hear Reverend Hammond’s next words over the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. He couldn’t look up to his mother who was sitting next to him – he couldn’t make his eyes meet her. She was his mother – his confidant, his closest friend, his caregiver and closest family member – but she also sat in this church listening to the words of this pastor. Did Reverend Hammond think that Eric had chosen this for himself? Did he think that Eric would _choose_ to live in a world where one of the places he had always felt safest was no longer safe? A world where he was forced to leave his hometown to get away from bullies – away from his best friend?

 _If I could choose,_ Eric thought, _I would choose for none of this to happen to me. I would still be at my old house, with my old friends and my old school. Why would I choose something that makes people hate me? Why would I want to live a life where I can’t be myself?_

Eric’s mother put her hand on Eric’s arm. A typically comforting gesture, the hand made Eric jump slightly. The touch felt like a million pinpricks, making the hair on Eric’s arm stand up. Eric looked at his mother. Her sweet smile could usually give a stranger diabetes, but Eric only felt judgment. Not only judgment, Eric felt pity. _I know you think this is your life,_ the smile said, _but all you need is repentance and to change a small part of you, and God’s grace will shine on you again._ It was a loaded smile, the unspoken words replacing the soft but calming sweetness that was typically held on his mother’s lips.

The sermon ended. The collection plate was passed, and the last hymns were sung. The rest of the service flew past Eric without his acknowledgment past muscle memory and vague understanding of his surroundings. His lips moved, carrying the words of the hymns, but carrying no meaning. He bowed his head to pray, but no thoughts passed his mind, and no comforting feeling of a divine presence filled the hole that had been made in Eric’s chest.

They walked out of the sanctuary, greeting fellow churchgoers shallowly while leisurely heading toward the door to the parking lot. Eric wasn’t sure if he could speak to these people again. He did, he said his “Hi”’s and his “How are you?”’s and his “Good to see you”’s, but he felt no words coming from his mouth. He did not feel the words on his tongue, and he did not register the meaning in his head. How could he face this? Is this what Eric was to expect from the rest of his life?


	10. Aftermath

_Wednesday, July 1, 2009 —_ _University of Georgia Children and Family Counseling Department, Athens, GA_

 

Eric told Mr. Duncan about Sunday’s sermon. He told him how it felt when his mother touched his arm, how he felt nothing but judgment and numbness and _not love_. Eric wanted to keep it to himself, but he had been seeing Mr. Duncan for over a year now, and Eric knew better than to keep something like this to himself. It was important.

 

Mr. Duncan was silent for a couple moments. Long, pain-staking moments. _Agonizing_ moments. His face remained its normal contemplative, but neutral, expression. Eric watched Mr. Duncan intently, trying to detect the same judgment that he had felt from his mother. If it was there, Eric couldn’t see it. Eric held his breath.

 

“Well, it’s understandable for you to be upset when you hear something so upsetting and you feel like the only person hurt by it,” Mr. Duncan eventually said.

 

Eric was floored. He expected something totally different to come from his therapist. He didn’t know why he did, Mr. Duncan was one of the most level headed people Eric knew, but he expected anger or confusion or, just, _something._ “Well I guess that makes sense,” Eric replied.

 

“The feelings you described just then — that disconnectedness, the confusion, the hurt, the fear — those all can be issues with your anxiety. I know we haven’t addressed it much, sometimes it’s easier for you to just talk through your day, but one part of cognitive behavioral therapy is giving you tools to be able to help yourself, rather that just relying on me. I’m here to give you those tools, and to be a safe space for you to talk about whatever you need to talk about, and to be here when you really need my guidance. But overall? You’re who you have to rely on.”

 

Eric nodded along. What he made said sense. In over a year, while Eric enjoyed seeing Mr. Duncan and just talking through things was helpful, Mr. Duncan had been wary to use the actual term “anxiety.” It was almost like naming what Eric was feeling gave his feelings power, making them stronger and worse, but Eric felt almost calmed by Mr. Duncan’s speech. The minister wasn’t directly attacking Eric, he wasn’t talking about something that affected Eric, his mother still loved him, it was _just his anxiety._ And he can deal with that.

 

Mr. Duncan continued talking. Eric made a note to listen because Mr. Duncan never talked this much at one time, sometimes even in a whole session. “Eric, the fact that your feelings could be part of your anxiety doesn’t make them any less real, it doesn’t mean they don’t have a reason other than your brain’s reaction to things. There might be something that you heard that truly hurt you, but you have a tendency to overreact to things, sometimes. And that’s okay. That’s why you are going to have ways to center yourself and calm yourself down when you feel anxious.

 

“When you feel anxious, the easiest way to calm yourself down is to distract yourself with something you can control. One way we can do this is counting and breathing. Whenever you feel anxious, I want you to just count your big, deep breaths. Just count up to fifteen then start over. Like this.” Mr. Duncan stopped talking and took deep breaths counting on his fingers to show Eric how he was counting in his head.

 

_In—hale, E—xhale, one. In—hale, E—xhale, two. I—nhale, E—xhale, three._

Eric watched Mr. Duncan for a little while before trying it himself. Eric could feel his muscles relax, his mind clear, and the little ball of tension in his chest loosen, just a bit. The negative emotions slowly trickled away with each slow, metered breath. This is what he needed. Eric continued past Mr. Duncan’s ending deep breath, not stopping until he counted to fifteen. He felt himself return to the world, but his body and mind stayed more relaxed than it had been before, more relaxed than it had been in a while.

 

“Just keep counting to fifteen and taking deep breaths like that until you feel calm again. What did you think?”

 

“It was really helpful, thanks, Mr. Duncan.”

 

“I’m glad it was helpful, Eric. That’s just one thing that you can do to help yourself when you feel stressed or anxious or like you’re going to panic. It helps calm down your nervous system, which calms down the rest of you. I do hate to say it, but that’s our hour. Keep making your video journals, if you like them, and don’t forget about our Skype appointment the Wednesday after next, okay?”

 

“Okay, sounds good.”

 

Mr. Duncan rose from his armchair, and Eric followed suit. Mr. Duncan led the way out of his office, picking up the wooshing noise canceller and turning it off as the two went back to meet Eric’s mother in the waiting room where she was reading a book.

 

____

 

_Sunday, July 5, 2009 — Eric Bittle’s bedroom_

 

Light streamed through the window in Eric’s bedroom, hitting the boy nearly in the face with sunlight. Eric groaned. It was too early to be up today; he had been up all night editing one of his video recipes, filling for his favorite cherry pie. But it was Sunday, and God had other plans for Eric, it seemed. As if on cue as Eric stirred, Eric’s mother slowly creaked open the door, simultaneously knocking lightly on the door.

 

“Eric, honey, you need to get up for church,” she said.

 

Even though he knew it was Sunday from the start, Eric’s stomach dropped. He had forgotten about having to go back to church. _That church. That preacher. That congregation._ Eric thought the only thing worse might be if he showed up to that church in front of that preacher and that congregation in his underwear. Eric pulled his covers over his head, shielding himself from the light. He felt woozy.

 

“I don’t feel so good, Mama,” Eric said. It was completely true. He just didn’t mention that it was because he couldn’t face that church or even God himself with what he had in his head. “I don’t know if I can go today. Maybe if I sleep a little longer I’ll feel better this afternoon?”

 

Eric’s mother stood in the doorway for a few moments, thinking over Eric’s argument. Finally, she acquiesced. “Okay, honey,” she said with a small sigh, “just feel better. Your daddy and I are going to go to church but we’ll skip the potluck and we’ll come straight back here after the service, alright? Do you need anything?”

 

_Maybe some support,_ Eric thought, almost regretting it as he thought it. Out loud, though, he said, “No, I’m just gonna sleep for a little while longer.”

 

Eric’s mother left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Eric settled back into the bed, his stomach not feeling any better. He turned away from the window, hoping that darkness would help settle the churning feeling in his gut. Eric imagined his stomach as a great wide ocean in the middle of a storm — moving, churning, dangerous.

 

No matter what he did, Eric could not fall asleep, but he also could not will himself to get up. Unable to change, Eric laid in bed for two hours until his mother came home again, this time coming into his room with Tylenol, a thermometer, and tomato soup and grilled cheese. He loved his mother, but Eric knew he didn’t have a fever, and he didn’t need medicine.

 

Eric sat in his bed, grilled cheese untouched, counting, counting, counting to fifteen.


	11. Mistakes

_December 10, 2010 – Eric Bittle’s bedroom, around 3 AM_

 

There was a small tap outside Eric’s bedroom window. Eric stirred from his sleep, but ignoring the tapping, assuming it was a bird or rain or the falling leaves.

 

The tap persisted. “Eric, wake up!” whispered a voice from outside the window. That was definitely not leaves. Eric sighed and groggily made his way to the window, pulling back the blinds to reveal a frazzled Jessica standing outside of Eric’s room in the dark. She was still wearing the silver and blue dress that she had worn to the high school winter formal dance earlier that night – much earlier that night, since the dance ended at 10 PM. Her makeup was smeared in places and her eyes pleaded for Eric to open the window. Eric didn’t give it a second thought, unlatching the window and popping out the screen for Jessica to sneak in. Even though Eric did not know what was happening, he knew that his friend was in serious need of some TLC.

 

Jessica climbed through the window, only somewhat encumbered by her dress and nerves. Eric replaced the screen and window behind her before going to the bathroom and retrieving a wet washcloth for Jessica to wipe off her makeup. Jessica sat on the end of Eric’s bed, only muttering a small thank you when Eric handed her the rag.

 

After a few moments, Eric broke the silence. “Jess, what happened?”

 

Jessica kept wiping her face, waiting to answer Eric’s question until she regained her composure slightly. When Jessica was done cleaning herself up, she took a deep breath before turning to Eric, who saw next to her.

 

“I think I did something bad. Like, really really bad.”

 

Eric’s mind ran through a hundred different scenarios of what Jessica’s _really really bad_ thing could be. Did she sleep with that one jerk she thinks is cute? Did she get drunk? Do drugs? Smoke something? Is she on the run from the police? Did she hurt someone – kill someone? Before he let his mind run wild, he tried to stop his thoughts. _One, two, three, four, five, six._

Eric tried to remain calm. “What happened?” He asked again, trying to keep his voice as even-tempered as he could.

 

Jessica hesitated. “I kissed someone.”

 

Eric felt a rush of relief. At least it wasn’t murder. “Well that’s okay,” he chuckled, “as long as it wasn’t that one asshole captain of the soccer team. You’re way too good for him. Also, he’s like, eighteen, and you’re, like, fifteen.”

 

“It wasn’t _him._ ” Jessica looked down at the floor, mindlessly chipping off her sparkly nail polish.

 

“Well damage control can’t be too bad then. Who was it?”

 

“Rebecca Matthews.”

 

“ _Oh._ ” Eric was barely able to say anything else. Rebecca was not only the most popular girl at school, but she was a vile, nasty girl with a mouth that ran every rumor throughout the entire tenth grade. And sometimes ninth and eleventh too. She was also very, _very_ conservative. Marches-in-protests conservative. Angry-at-Republicans conservative. Spread-rumor-about-Jessica-being-gay conservative.

 

“The worst part too, I think?” Jessica paused for a moment, dropping her voice to almost a whisper. “I liked it. A lot.”

 

“I mean, I’ve heard that kissing is good, or whatever,” Eric said, trying to slightly diffuse the tension from the situation.

 

“Yeah, but not just kissing. I think… I think I like kissing girls.”

 

Eric paused for a moment, trying to process the words that his best friend had just said. _I’m not the only one,_ he thought, selfishly, before thinking, _oh god, but this means Jessica is going to have to deal with what I deal with._

 

Jessica started to panic. “Look, if you’re, like, not okay with that I won’t talk about it, o-or I can go, or something? I don’t know, I just know I’m really scared and I need my best friend.”

 

“That’s totally okay,” Eric said, “I completely support you.”

 

Jessica let out a sigh of relief. “Well, thank god, I could not deal with this without you.” She paused, her relief disappearing and being replaced with worry. “But, other than with you, is this, like, _okay?_ Like, is this something that happens?”

 

Eric honestly didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to, couldn’t, say that, no, it wasn’t okay and now both of them were going to hell (at least Eric had a friend now), but he also did not really know if either of them was really following how things were supposed to be. Finally, Eric settled on simply saying, “I don’t know.”

 

Jessica looked like Eric had punched her in the stomach – out of breath, in pain. Eric felt how she was feeling. He had been there. He was there.

 

The two friends sat there, contemplating Jessica’s future. What was she going to do about this? How was she going to face school on Monday? How was she going to face herself?

 

Eric took a deep breath. _One, two, three._ Another. _Four, five, six._ Finally, he worked up the courage to say something. “I don’t think I would like kissing girls.”

 

Jessica looked up from the spot on the floor that she was looking at and stared wide-eyed at Eric. A moment of connection passed between the two; they were in this together. They were before, but now they knew it.

 

“That’s cool,” Jessica answered, trying not to make matters worse. “I guess more for me then?” She laughed gravely at her own joke.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Eric paused before turning the conversation back toward Jessica. “So what are you going to do about this whole Rebecca problem?”

 

“Honestly,” Jessica started, “I’m hoping she just doesn’t remember it. We were at a party at Daniel’s house, his parents weren’t home, and she was super drunk.”

 

“And you kissed her?”

 

“Well, really, it was more like she kissed me. Why would I go out of my way to kiss that witch?”

 

Eric laughed. “True. But still, what if she does remember? Because you know she won’t think she started it.”

 

“I don’t know. If she remembers it, everyone is going to know by first lunch. _Everyone_. And it’ll be ‘my fault’ and that ‘I kissed her’ and everyone will think I’m that one gay girl that goes around kissing straight girls just for fun.” Jessica sighed. “Not only will I be marked as a whore for the rest of high school, I’ll be a lesbian whore. Which is a hundred times worse.”

 

“Well, maybe she won’t want to be involved? Maybe, _worst case,_ she says she saw you kissing another girl? So maybe they won’t think you’re a whore?”

 

“I would rather be called a whore!” Jessica yelled, throwing herself back on the bed with a humph.

 

“Shh! It’s three in the damn morning, Jess. My parents are asleep and _don’t know you’re here._ ”

 

“Shit, sorry, forgot.” Jessica groaned and covered her eyes with her arms. “There is literally no good way this could play out. Why did it have to be her? Of all people?”

 

“Honestly, at this point, kissing soccer-asshole might’ve been better,” Eric claimed.

 

“It so would have been! At least with that people think I like guys.” Jessica paused, giving thought to her words. “I mean, I do like guys, but I mean they wouldn’t think I liked girls – just guys.”

 

The two sat, pensive in thought for a while, before Eric heard shuffling coming from the kitchen. Eric and Jessica looked at each other at the same time, both suddenly freaking out.

 

“Shit!” Eric exclaimed, running toward the window to open it as quickly and as quietly as he can. Jessica followed right behind him, giving him a hug and a thanks before climbing back through the window. Eric quickly replaced the screen and the glass to where they were supposed to be and shutting of his light, climbing back into bed.

 

Just moments later, Eric’s mother knocks lightly on the door before peeking through the door as she opened it. “Eric, honey, is everything okay? I thought I heard something coming from your room.”

 

Eric turned over, suddenly seeming groggy, as if just woken up by his mother. “Huh?” he groaned.

 

Eric’s mother laughed slightly. “I guess it was nothing, maybe the house settling or somethin’. Love you, Dicky. Sorry for waking you.”

 

“Love you too, Mama,” Eric said sleepily. In the dark, Eric’s mother could not see Eric’s wide-awake eyes or quick breathing. Eric’s mother closed the door quietly, leaving Eric alone to fall slowly, and barely, fall back asleep, restless with worry.


	12. What happens to a dream unwanted?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST SO YOU KNOW THERE IS SOME NONCON AND COERCION IN THIS CHAPTER PLEASE BE AWARE

_Somewhere?, at some tim_ e?

Suddenly, his eyes opened. Eric squinted at the bright lights, shielding his face with his arm to no avail.

The roar of the crowd grew loud in his ears. A few moments pass. The noise of the crowd sharpens — angry shouts, threats, booing, cursing. 

Eric could feel the uncomfortable scratch of artificial turf on the bottoms of his feet. _What was he doing on the football field? Why was he barefoot?_

The lights blinded him and the crowd was shrouded by the intense white that took up the majority of Eric’s vision. The roar of the crowd grew louder. A gently breeze tickled the skin on Eric’s stomach, arms, and legs. 

_Great_ , he thought, _I’m naked_. 

Starting to panic, Eric tried to cover his body where he needed to with his hands and looked around for some way to get of the field as quickly as he could. He tried to pick up his feet, but the seemed to be cemented to the ground. 

Suddenly, from the entrance from the locker room, another boy around Eric’s age appeared, naked and confused. The entrance reminded him of an entrance to a coliseum; Eric remembered just learning more about those in history. Was this boy his monster to fight?

The boy started moving closer. Eric was still stuck. Once the boy was near enough to Eric to see his face, he seemed to have recovered from his stupor and now had a different expression: was that desire? Lust?

Eric could feel himself getting hard. _No no no no no, this can’t be happening!_ Eric thought, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing his body, begging with his mind to make it _go away_. 

The crowd’s shouting morphed into to a mix of jeers, laughs, and boos as the boy moved closer to Eric and Eric tried like hell to not look turned on by this naked boy in front of him. 

Eric could feel the light caress of a hand on his arm. He opened his eyes and saw the boy’s face inches from his own. The boy had a suave look on his face; his determination and lust fought to dominate his expressions, but both worked together. Eric was intimidated, scared, and turned on, all at once.

The boy pushed Eric into his body, pressing every inch of the two boys together. The crowd got louder, angrier. Eric wanted him to stop. He wanted to get off this field. But he also didn’t want the boy to stop. Eric could feel every part of the boy’s body against his own. The boy’s chest, pushing against his own. The strength of the boy’s abs. The pulse of the boy’s dick cacophonous against the, just as insistent, pulse of his own. 

Eric couldn’t catch his breath. His heart was beating as fast as it could. He just wished the crowd would disappear. He couldn’t deal with the anger the crowd imbued; he couldn’t deal with the lack of privacy the crowd created; he couldn’t deal with how the crowd made him feel. He didn’t want to be able to deal with how the mysterious boy made him feel, but Eric could definitely deal with that. Just not here. 

Eric’s brain was flooded with panic and pleasure. The boy kissed Eric’s jaw. His lips felt light but intense all at the same time. It made Eric’s heart flutter. _I have to get out of here_ , Eric thought. He was still unable to move. The boy kept kissing slowly down Eric’s jaw, closer and closer to his mouth. As he did this, the boy’s hand inched closer and closer to Eric’s tense hands. The boy pulled Eric’s hands away, replacing them on the boy’s hips. The boy moved back toward where Eric’s hands had previously been, and took Eric’s dick in his hands, stroking it in a way that was both familiar to Eric while also different. 

Eric couldn’t handle it. His breathing hastened and he felt himself trying to finish. _Not here, not here_ , Eric pleaded with himself. Just as Eric was about to cum, the boy stopped. He moved his hand to the back of Eric’s neck and leaned in to whisper in Eric’s ear. 

“You didn’t think I could actually love you, did you?” The boy asked, his tone a confusing mix of lust and disgust. 

The boy pulled away and stared into Eric’s eyes. His eyes were squinted in anger. Eric’s eyes grew wide as he saw the anger in the boy’s face. 

Then, the scene changed.

_______

Eric felt something soft underneath him. The room was warm and comfortable. When he opened his eyes, his bedroom was dimly lit but it was still easy to see. 

Eric looked around, comforted by the familiar space. He didn’t know why the lights were on, but he wondered if he was awake from that awful dream. He could still feel the hardness of his dick, but he could also feel it fighting against the compression of his boxers. The fact that he had the clothes he had fallen asleep in on was comforting as well. 

At least until Eric turned his head to look at the doorway to the bathroom. The door was open, and a woman wearing a simple, soft looking, slip stood in the doorway. The baby pink slip cut off halfway down her perfectly smooth thighs. She looked familiar, but also different. 

The woman moved toward Eric once he looked her direction. She had a sweet smile on her face. As she came nearer, Eric realized it was Jessica. His _best friend_ , Jessica. The person he, even if he was attracted to her, should _never_  be in this position with. Part of him tried to reason that this couldn’t be Jessica — Jessica wouldn’t ever be caught dead wearing baby pink lingerie, and she never relaxed her hair how this alt-Jessica did.

Alt-Jessica straddled Eric, her face inches from his own. The pressure of her hips on Eric’s wasn’t uncomfortable, but Eric’s face blushed red from embarrassment. Alt-Jessica started kissing Eric’s neck and jaw. He felt like he couldn’t move. He was stuck. 

“Stop, Jessica, stop,” Eric pleaded. The simple words were hard enough to muster while he was paralyzed and under the weight of his best friend who was kissing him. 

Alt-Jessica looked up at Eric with a pouty face, still straddling him. Her long hair fell past her and tickled Eric’s shoulder. “Don’t you love me?” She asked. 

“Not like this,” Eric said, “I don’t want to... be with you, like, in this way.”

Alt-Jessica just looked more confused. “But why wouldn’t you? I’m perfect for you; we would be perfect together.” She sat up, still on top of Eric. “We like the same things, we can talk to each other. I know I find you extremely sexy. Don’t you think I’m hot?”

“Honestly, no.” Alt-Jessica’s face dropped. Eric continued, “I think you’re very pretty, but not someone I would want to date.”

“Who could be better than us?”

Eric couldn’t bring himself to respond. 

“Come on,” Alt-Jessica said, seemingly recovered from Eric’s blows. She moved back to kissing Eric, this time her reach going down to his collarbone and his chest as well. As she kissed and nipped at Eric’s neck and chest, Alt-Jessica easily pulled off her small slip leaving her with nothing except a small pair of lace underwear on. She grabbed Eric’s hands and moved them so he was cupping her breasts. She seemed to enjoy the sensation, but Eric felt nothing past the physical touch of warm, kinda squishy, skin. Alt-Jessica held his hands in place, moving them slightly to squeeze her breasts. 

“You keep those there,” Alt-Jessica demanded. “And you can play with my nipples, you know.”

Eric did not take her up on that offer, but left his hands where they were more out of his inability to really move than out of obligation. Alt-Jessica moved her hands down Eric’s sides and slowly slipped off his shorts before taking off her underwear. Eric’s heart beat faster and his breathing became harder. Alt-Jessica brought her hands back up to her breasts, moving Eric’s hands. She grabbed one softly and moved it down to play with her clit while the other she let fall to the side. 

Eric laid there frozen. He did not want to do this. He felt awkward and exposed, and none of this felt good to him. His fingers felt warm, wet skin that folded and clapped over itself in ways that Eric did not understand. He didn’t move. Alt-Jessica sat on top of Eric still, unabashedly playing with her nipples in a way that made her moan. 

After what felt like an eternity to Eric, Alt-Jessica leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I want you to fuck me, Eric. Fuck me like you love me. Fuck me hard.”

_No_ , Eric thought, _I can’t do this. I can’t._

Before anything else could happen, everything went black.

 _______

Eric woke up in a cold sweat. His room was dark like he left it when he fell asleep. He sat up and looked around the room to make sure everything, from what he could see, was in the right place. Eric looked at the clock. It was 3 AM. Eric sighed. There was no going back to sleep now. He got up and grabbed his laptop before bringing it back to his bed to work on some editing until morning came. 


	13. College isn't just about Classes

_August 5, 2011—Eric Bittle’s bedroom, 6 PM_

 

Eric’s mother insisted that he had put off looking into college for long enough. With just over two weeks before the start of his junior year of high school, his mother was convinced that if Eric doesn’t start a list of schools he wants to look into _now,_ he will _never be able to go to college ever and he will be stuck flipping burgers at McDonald’s for the rest of his life._

Eric thought she was overreacting. He didn’t have to apply for college for an entire year still, but he also saw her point of view – especially if he had any hope of playing hockey at any college that didn’t have a startup team full of walk-ons that played football at little 2-A high schools and thought “Hey, if I can’t play football, I guess this gives me a chance to beat people up still.”

He started scrolling through the Collegeboard website lazily. There were some schools that seemed interesting: Auburn University was close to home; Bowling Green State was a decent price; Central Michigan University seemed like an interesting place to live. They all were _okay._ They had hockey, regardless if Eric really thoughts he had a chance or not, they were far enough from home, or more than far enough from home, for Eric to feel like he had some independence, and most of them, he felt, wouldn’t be a burden on his Mama and Coach for his tuition. And of course, he had Georgia Tech and University of Georgia on his list too, as backups. With Eric’s knack for procrastinating a little too long, it was definitely necessary to have plenty of backup schools.

But Eric wasn’t sure how he would _feel_ at these schools. Would they just be more of the same bullshit he put up with at home? Surely some of the jerks in his grade would grow out of their bullying and name-calling that Eric experienced in passing at his school now, but did that mean he wouldn’t be subject to protests proclaiming that “GOD HATES FAGS”? That if he was on the hockey team that he wouldn’t have to hear homophobic locker room talk that he was _sure_ existed in some locker rooms? Would he be able to make friends? Would he be able to be himself – all of himself?

 

> _google.com [lgbt friendly colleges us]_

_> LGBT-Friendly Colleges | Princeton Review_

 

There were a lot of options – all far away from home. Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, even Texas had schools in the ranking. Eric had no qualms being far away from home. He might miss his parents, but overall, he would not miss anything else about Madison, Georgia. Not one thing.

But the school he chose had to fit everything else he wanted in a school – good hockey, good academics (but not too great), far enough from home but not across the country, and it had to be a reasonable tuition. Eric started making a list of schools to look into, to see if they’d work. Altogether with his other schools, he had a list of almost thirty schools. Eric felt completely overwhelmed by the idea of researching all of these schools – hours of research into schools when he knew he wouldn’t even be able to consider maybe half of them, much less apply. College was so far off, yet it also felt so close.

Eric felt a large mix of giddy excitedness and stomach-tingling anxiety. He had a long time to figure it out, and he was excited about the idea of being somewhere where he might just maybe have a chance to really, truly be himself, but at the same time, he didn’t want to waste away the next two years he had. Some parts of home were good – his parents, Jessica, his teachers and some of his classes, the skating rink. When he thought about it, he really did have a good life here. There were many things about home that Eric loved, but there were also things that he could not reconcile himself with – the politics, the constant lying and omission of part of his life, the hiding of his vlog from anyone close to him.

Honestly, by the way it’s blown up, Eric is surprised no one from home watches it. Not like he could really check, but if they did, they didn’t mention it. And there were enough videos of Eric confessing his inner feelings and insecurities and cringy middle school mistakes that Eric would have heard someone talking about it in-between classes, or on his personal Twitter or Instagram feeds, or at church or the rink.

Eric didn’t know how he would be in college – would he just be like he is at home? Or would he become a different person? Would he feel like he could share parts of his life with his new College Friends that he couldn’t share with friends and family at home?

 

\--

_August 12, 2011—Eric Bittle’s bedroom, 8:30 PM_

So his college list was _long_. Contrary to his normal nature, Eric had actually put some effort into researching schools; it was a good distraction from his summer reading that was due in a week and nowhere near done (let’s be honest, nowhere near started). Through his research, and some advice from Mama and Coach and Jessica and the school counselor, Eric had narrowed the list down a little bit.

 

_My schools that I might go to, in no particular order (because who does that)_

_Allegheny College_

_Georgia Tech_

_Auburn University_

_University of Georgia_

_Samwell University_

_Johnson & Wales University – Providence _

_Kenyon College_

_Central Michigan University_

 

They were all different. They all had things Eric liked, and things Eric didn’t. He had ruled out schools like University of North Carolina – he couldn’t get over how ridiculous their mascot was – and Oberlin College – he didn’t like how pretentious it seemed – but there was still a long list for Eric to sift through.

While Eric flipped back and forth between tabs for a dozen different university pages and editing his most recent video, he somehow managed to rule out some of the schools: Kenyon didn’t have hockey, Auburn was too football-centric, and Central Michigan was just too far from home.

Eric spent the next few hours of the evening looking between the rest of the schools. They were all over the map – literally and figuratively. He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to narrow it down, but one school kept standing out: Samwell. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a good feeling about it. No matter what other schools he looked at, he ended up comparing it to Samwell. Georgia Tech was close to home and would be logistically easier to handle, but Samwell was near Boston, which was a bustling metropolitan area with easy airport access. Allegheny had a better acceptance rate, but Samwell had a lot of different, interesting majors. No matter what reasoning he came up with to try to talk himself out of Samwell – it was far away, it was expensive, it was in a _cold_ climate – something about it stuck out in Eric’s mind. He had a gut feeling about it.

Plus, it did help that it was ranked first in LGBT+ Friendly universities on the Princeton Review article Eric had read.

But Eric couldn’t use that as a reason for his parents. Maybe his reason is that he wants to experience a new area? That he wants to be outside of a big city? That he likes the majors? That they have a good hockey team?

He wasn’t sure what he would say when he told him Samwell was his first choice. He knew he would make sure to tell them he’ll apply to University of Georgia as a back-up school (or rather, as a second choice, as to not discredit Coach’s alma mater), and that he was also applying to the school in Providence. Eric thought about this as he researched further into Samwell’s men’s hockey team. Looking into the coaches and players, they all seemed pretty nice. Or well, as nice as NCAA hockey players could look in their roster photos. One of the guys, J. Zimmerman, seemed _intense_. But the rest of the guys seemed like they could be nice. He hoped.

After a little while looking through their last season’s record (they were pretty good), Eric found a link: _contact us_. He clicked on it. On the page, it gave an option for recruitment and an address. He figured if he’s going to go to Samwell, he would need the help of an athletic scholarship to afford it. Maybe if he sent in a really good tape, he could get his foot in the door.

\--

_September 8, 2011—The Bittle dining room, 5:30 PM, dinner time_

 

“So, Dicky,” his Mama started with her typical lilt when she had a question, “where are you looking at for college, do you think?”

Eric shifted in his chair. He knew they hoped he would stay close. Coach had gone to University of Georgia for physical education and he still went to the football games when he could, and Mama had gone to Georgia Tech for engineering, meeting Coach while she was cheering at a Tech-UG game. But Eric knew he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t go to a school in Georgia 

“Well,” he started, “I’m gonna apply to Tech and to Georgia, but they aren’t my top choices.”

The smiles that had been on both Coach and Mama’s faces had faded slightly, but Mama tried to perk back up quick enough for Eric to not notice the drop in her smile.

“Where are you looking at, bud?” Coach asked.

“There’s a college up near Boston actually, I was looking at. It’s called Samwell University.” Eric could feel the blush on his cheeks.

Mama looked surprised. “Oh!” She said. “That’s pretty far away.”

“What made you choose that school?” Coach asked.

Eric launched into his pre-planned speech on why Samwell was his top choice school. “Well,” he said, “they have a lot of different majors, and they’re near Boston so I’ll be able to see a different part of the country but I’ll still be able to get home pretty easily, and they have a pretty good hockey team and they offer athletic scholarships, so… I already sent in a tape to the head coaches actually.”

Both of his parents were taken aback. The sat, shocked for a moment. Coach held his fork full of peas in midair as if he had forgotten to finish moving the fork to his mouth. Mama stared at Eric for a moment before she seemed to grasp what he had said.

“Do you know what you want to major in since they have so many options?”

Eric laughed slightly, his face still in a deep blush. “Well, no. But I like that I would have different options to choose from once I’m in college. Some of the other schools I was looking at didn’t have as many options. It’s a D-1 school, so it’s got a lot of students, lots of classes, and they have athletic scholarships, like I said, because, honestly, I know y’all don’t like talking about money, but I wouldn’t want you to have to pay for all of my tuition. It’s pretty expensive.”

“Well you know we’ll figure it out,” Coach said, continuing to eat his dinner, “We always do. But if you’re serious about this Samwell, and about playing hockey in college, you better do your best to get that scholarship.”

Eric nodded and continued eating his dinner, hoping that his parents would change the subject soon. While he was excited about the idea of college, the idea of being in a different, possibly more accepting, place, he didn’t want to discuss it with his parents more than he had to. He didn’t want to have to explain further why he chose the school – that would just cause more questions. And heartache, and confusion, and denial, and …

“Mama, I’m gonna go use the bathroom real quick. I’ll be right back,” Eric said, feeling beads of sweat start to form on his forehead, his heart racing.

“Alright, Dicky, you’re excused,” Mama said without fanfare.

Eric left the dinner table and headed to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath. College was scary enough, but leaving for a college that he knew was for reasons other than what he told his parents, lying to his parents – possibly for the rest of his life? How was he supposed to cope with that?

He slid down and sat on the floor, his head in his hands. He just had to wait for this to pass, wait until his panic subsided. He breathed deeply, counting each breath. He tried to ignore his racing thoughts – about college, about his parents, about his home, and about him. About his… preferences. He knew that he _could not_ tell them. He didn’t know how they would react, but surely, Eric _knew_ that it would be bad. There was no way it wouldn’t be. He just had to learn to live with it. Wait for the panic to pass, calm down, and then act like nothing was wrong. It wasn’t anything new. It had been like this for sixteen years, he could keep it up.

 

But could he?


	14. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is sad and scary. You've been warned.

_April 20, 2013 – Bittle family porch, 5 PM_

 

“Oh! Y’all just look so cute!” Suzanne exclaimed, her face obscured by her camera as she took pictures of Eric and Jessica.

Eric rolled his eyes. “Mama, _please.”_

“Eric Richard Bittle, this is your senior prom and I am your mother! I am going to be excited!”

“We’re not even posing for pictures yet!”

Coach, standing behind Suzanne, interjected, “Dicky, just let your mother be.”

Eric gave up with a slight smile and turned back to Jessica. She was wearing a long green dress with spaghetti straps and a matching shawl. Eric put the corsage on her wrist and Jessica pinned his boutonniere on Eric’s lapel. Eric’s mother caught all of it on camera, almost as if it was stop motion. Jessica smiled and laughed slightly, catching Eric’s eye. _This is kinda weird, isn’t it?_ She said, no words needed. Eric agreed.

They turned and faced Suzanne, posing so she could take pictures. After about ten _long_ minutes of pictures, Eric and Jessica left the Bittle’s house and headed to dinner before their senior prom.

Dinner was normal, although fancy and fun. Eric’s parents had given him money for dinner since he was too busy during the year to keep a job and they wanted him to have a “real prom experience, with a fancy restaurant and all”. Eric and Jessica sat at a small table, surrounded by couples with soft candles and romantic music playing in the background. Throughout the dinner, they joked and laughed about the restaurant and carried on as normal. While everyone else in the room was flirting and holding hands, Eric and Jessica discussed plans for college, intended majors, and the girl that Jessica was talking to online.

The night felt the same, yet different at the same time. Eric was glad that he was able to go to prom with his best friend, instead of just with someone random, as if anyone would want to go to prom with him, or by himself. Really, if it weren’t for Jessica, Eric wouldn’t have let his mother talk him into going. While Eric liked parties well enough, he didn’t like parties with his _classmates._ Eric and Jessica spent the rest of the night dancing and hanging out as if they were the only ones in the room. Luckily for them, no one else really expected them to talk to other people, and no one talked to them. When they had each other, that didn’t hurt – it was nice to not be expected to interact with people who thought that they were both gay.

Prom was about as fun as to be expected. They danced, sang along to the maybe five songs they knew, and drank punch that was constantly guarded by Eric’s history teacher. Being surrounded by people, but also feeling as if the only person there with him was Jessica, Eric felt calm and in his element. For the first time since the moment he found out he was going to Samwell on a hockey scholarship, Eric felt calm and specifically not-sad. He was excited and happy. He felt like himself, almost. He did think about how it could be different if Madison was a different place, how he and Jessica could both go with dates other than each other, Jessica with her girlfriend, Eric with… somebody, but that thought was pushed back by the fun he was having with his best friend.

Around eleven, half an hour before prom ended, the principal started to announce class favorites and prom queen and king. Jessica nudged Eric. “Hey,” she said, “are you ready to go? I’m not really in the mood to see Rebecca “my daddy bought me another new car for graduation” Matthews be crowned prom queen.”

Eric laughed. “Sure,” he said, “we could go get milkshakes or something."

The two of them left the party, leaving behind the ecstatic cheering of the class of 2013 cheering for their not-so-new, not-so-royal Queen Rebecca. When they got to the door, it was pouring rain. As sudden and as hard as it could be. 

“Shit,” Eric said.

“This is gonna suck,” Jessica agreed.

They laughed as they ran to Eric’s dad’s truck, Jessica carrying her heels and hoping no dumbass broke beer bottles in the parking lot. The rain was terrible and invigorating at the same time, and both of them sat in the car laughing for a good few minutes.

“That. That was a great end to prom,” Jessica said, leaning her head on Eric’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it really was. Great story to tell, honestly.”

They sat together for a moment.

“Hey,” Jessica said, “thanks for coming with me. I know you weren’t totally sold on the whole “prom” thing.”

Eric chuckled. “Yeah, I really wasn’t, but I had a great time. I don’t think it could’ve been better.”

“You could’ve won prom queen instead of Re-bitch-a Matthews.”

“Haha. And you could’ve been my king.”

“Sounds great, man. I’d be down. Too bad they won’t let us back in there to steal her crown.”

“Yeah, too bad.”

Eric started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He hated that the school administration had chosen a country club that was on a _fucking dirt road_ to host the prom at. _April showers bring flash floods and muddy roads,_ Eric thought spitefully. Luckily, they got onto the highway safely and headed out through the rain.

The road was deserted, as one would expect a Georgia back-road highway to be. The rain was pouring, and even though Eric had the windshield wipers going as quickly as he could, it was still hard for him to see. He could see in his periphery Jessica holding onto the truck, stressed by the driving conditions. Eric was stressed too; he always had trouble driving through the rain. While he was a fine driver during a sunny day, this rain was hard for any driver, and especially one with only maybe a year of practice.

As they drove down the road, Eric felt the back of the truck lift up from the road. The steering wheel became harder to control. Eric started to panic.

“Shit, shit, shit!” He yelled. Jessica looked at him, also panicking.

Eric racked his brain for what his parents told him to do if he hydroplanes. This was more than a slight little instance, too. This was a bad one. He just had to keep it going straight, right? He could do that. He could keep it from veering off into the _really deep and scary drain ditch next to the road._  

Eric felt the tires hit the ground again. He and Jessica both let out a sigh of relief. They had made it. Once they got off the back roads, they should be better. The newer roads were made for better drainage.

Jessica laughed slightly out of relief. “Wow I really just saw my life flash before my eyes,” she said.

“Yeah, me too. I was really worried there,” Eric replied.

 

They kept driving.

 

Suddenly, Eric saw headlights. They were heading straight for them. He pressed down on the horn for as long and as hard as he could (as if it made a difference to the other driver’s response), and swerved to avoid the driver.

The sports car just barely scraped the back of the truck as they fell into the ditch, rolling before coming to a stop. Eric’s eyesight only went black for a moment before coming back. His heart was racing, his breathing loud and erratic. After a few moments of dazed orientation, he realized what happened.

“Jessica! Jessica, are you ok?” He called out.

He looked past the deflating airbags to see the broken window leading to the streaming water underneath. Jessica was hanging onto the broken window with one bloody hand, broken from the glass. Her legs dangled in the fast-moving water, just deep enough for her to not be able to touch the bottom. The truck was stuck on both muddy banks of the ditch.

Eric turned on the emergency lights before reaching to pull Jessica back up into the truck. As he moved, he felt his eyesight move just slightly after his body, his vision doubling. He ignored his eyesight and horrible headache and pulled Jessica back up into the truck, using all the strength he had. Her leg scraped against the window as she got back into the truck, climbing to the back seat where the window was intact.

Once Jessica was settled safely in the backseat, she noticed her leg. The scrape was all along her leg and was bleeding heavily. She looked to Eric, who seemed to be less hurt, for help. Eric, although he had no clue what to do in this situation, handed Jessica his phone to call 911 as he tore off parts of his dress shirt to haphazardly dress her wounds. He moved Jessica’s wet, torn, ruined dress out of the way and tied a strip of fabric tightly around her upper thigh to try and stop the bleeding. Eric tried not to cry as she screamed.

Luckily, the ambulance arrived quickly. They pulled Jessica out on a stretcher and Eric rode in the back of the ambulance with her as one paramedic took care of Jessica and the other assessed Eric. 

By the time they got to the hospital, Jessica was unconscious. They rushed her into the emergency room before bringing out a wheelchair for Eric and bringing him in as well. _What have I done?_ Eric thought as he sat on a bed, waiting for the nurse to finish taking his blood pressure. He couldn’t look her in the eye, even despite all of her kindness.

After the doctors had decided that he was stable, he waited for his parents. The hospital had called him. In all the confusion, in all the stress of the situation, Eric had forgotten to call them. All he wanted more than anything right now was to hug his Mama.

Eric’s parents came rushing into the emergency room with Jessica’s parents. The four of them all looked as scared as he had ever seen them, understandably, as they talked to the charge nurse. She pointed to Eric, and the four of them all came running up to Eric. Suzanne immediately hugged Eric, being careful of the open cut on his forehead and his arm in a sling. She kissed the top of his forehead but didn’t let go.

“Oh, Dicky, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too, Mama. The doctors said I should be okay, but they waited for you guys to make any proper diagnoses, still a minor technically, I guess.”

“Let’s not worry about that now. You’re okay.”

“Yeah.”

Suzanne held Eric for a little while longer before pulling away and holding him at arm’s length. Her eyes held the sadness and fear Eric knew she felt while looking at him in his disheveled state, even if they both knew that more likely than not he would be fine in a few weeks. “Is there any news about Jessica?” She asked softly, looking toward Jessica’s parents, who looked even more distraught.

Eric sighed. “No. I’m so scared.” He could feel himself start to tear up. “It’s all my fault, Mama. I saw a car coming and I swerved even though I knew there was that ditch and I knew it was raining and I swerved and I –”

“Oh, you hush. You did nothing wrong. There was nothing you could do, baby,” Suzanne said, pulling Eric back into a hug. Eric relaxed slightly into her embrace, but it didn’t relieve all the anxiety that he felt – it couldn’t.

After what felt like an eternity, a doctor came up to the group. “Mr. and Mrs. Waters?”

Jessica’s parents looked up at the doctor, their hope suddenly bolstered. The doctor did not reciprocate. “May I speak to you both in private?”

Mr. and Mrs. Waters followed the doctor silently a few feet out of earshot of the Bittles. It was like watching a movie. Jessica’s parents stood together, hopeful to hear that their daughter was perfectly alive and well and awake, and the doctor stood across from them. She gestured with her hands as she spoke. Eric watched as Jessica’s parents fell more and more into despair. The doctor tried to comfort the parents, but there was no consoling them.

Eric started to panic. Was she alive? Did he kill his best friend? He didn’t know if he could handle that guilt, if he could handle losing her. At this point, he was just glad he had just enough adrenaline and pain medication in him to stop him from completely panicking. He was already in enough pain. He needed to find a way through this until he knew what happened.

Jessica’s parents came back over to where Eric and his parents were. Mrs. Waters was crying, her husband teary but stoic. “The doctor said… she said that they are going to have to amputate her leg. If they don’t she could die. She’s… she’s not going to have _a leg_.”

Eric’s heart sank. He knew how hard that would be on Jessica – Jessica the party-going, tree-climbing, trampoline-jumping, through-window-climbing, soccer player who Eric had had to try to keep up with for the past six years of his life would now have to completely change her whole life. She would have to relearn how to walk. She wouldn’t be able to play soccer or climb through windows or jump on trampolines or climb trees. Eric had taken that away from her.

“She said that if… if you hadn’t… tried to put that tourniquet on her she might’ve died,” Mrs. Waters said through her tears. She hugged Eric, tears still streaming down her face. “Thank you, Eric." 

Eric reciprocated the hug and let Mrs. Waters thank him, but he didn’t feel much like a hero. He had gotten them into a wreck. He had almost cost Jessica her life. How could he be a hero when he had done that? Eric wasn’t sure if the adrenaline was wearing off or if he just couldn’t deal with the idea of being the reason his friend would no longer have a leg, but he his entire body felt like it had deflated. All he could feel was the physical pain of the dislocated shoulder, the head wound, and the concussion. His emotions felt empty, like they had all streamed out of him, like he had run out of the ability to feel. Eric knew this was his depression, he knew from years of therapy that he was feeling depressed, but his fogged brain could do nothing about it.

 

\--

 

Eric didn’t go home for another week. He didn’t go to school – he wasn’t allowed to read or use his phone or do any work anyway. Instead, he sat by Jessica’s bedside as she recovered. She slept most of the day, and the rest of the time she was either on painkillers or she was in pain. She never blamed Eric for causing all of this, she never got angry with him, but he could tell that somewhere in the back of her mind she had to blame him – even if it was only in the couple of hours before she had her next dose of pain medications, or in the middle of the night when Eric was asleep in the chair next to her bed, Eric knew that she blamed him for at least some of this. How could she not?

Another week after Suzanne had finally made Eric come home, Jessica was released from the hospital. Eric went to school, missing his best friend sitting next to him in class. He missed lunch with jokes and laughing and stories. He missed not having to worry if Jessica was going to be able to make it through the day without crying out from pain.

He went and visited her every day after school, even if it was only for a few minutes or an hour. He always stayed as long as he could, whether that was dictated by his mother waiting in the car or in the Waters’ kitchen, or by how tired Jessica was. Eric brought her her work, but she wasn’t able to really do much of it. The teachers understood, but Jessica hated it.

One of the most painful afternoons was when she had to defer her admission to UNC. She had been looking forward to moving away, to starting college, to being in a new place on her own, for a long time. And Eric had taken that away from her. She planned to start the next year, but all of that was up to how long it took her to recover, then learn to use a wheelchair, get a prosthetic, and learn to walk again.

Eric hadn’t lost his best friend, but it was one of the most painful things in the world to watch his best friend – a force of nature – be forced to stop everything she loved to be bedridden while she recovered from his mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: She ends up okay. I promise. She and Eric stay in touch and although this is a strain on their relationship, I couldn't bear to hurt them all that bad.


End file.
